


Old Aches Renewed

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (Spymaster & Apostate Style), Catching Up, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, Old God Kieran World State
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: In the shadows of the Skyhold garden, Leliana comes to talk to Morrigan.





	Old Aches Renewed

**Author's Note:**

> Title is absolutely a de-modernization of "my old aches become new again," from "Where Did the Party Go" by Fall Out Boy; I won't pretend otherwise.

The sun was setting over Skyhold, the mountains’ shadows lying heavy over the battlements, when Leliana came down to the garden. Morrigan sat on the bench by the gazebo, holding a book close to her face.

“You’ll hurt your eyes, Morrigan,” Leliana said, letting her feet clack along the paving stones. The garden was empty but for the two of them; everyone else had fled the chill of the evening. “I was surprised you spent so much time in the garden. I would have thought you’d find someplace quieter.”

“My eyesight is fine, I assure you,” Morrigan said, setting the book down. She blinked at the garden around them, rubbing her eyes; she jerked her hand away when she noticed Leliana looking. “And I have spent some time in the court of Orlais. The last time we travelled together, I had lived my whole life in the Korcari Wilds.”

“Oh, is that why you stayed so far from us!” Leliana laughed, settling a bottle and two cups down on the bench besides Morrigan’s book. “I thought you just didn’t like us.”

Morrigan’s mouth twitched. “’Tweren’t wrong.”

“I brought wine,” Leliana continued, uncorking it. “I thought we might talk.”

Morrigan laughed, accepting the offered cup. “Fear not, Sister Nightingale. I am no threat to you and yours. I have as much reason to preserve the world as anyone. And I served our warden well enough, did I not?”

“You did,” Leliana acknowledged, taking her own cup. She leaned one hip against the bench’s back, settling herself on the easiest path between Morrigan and the courtyard door. “She told me, afterwards, what you and Alistair did for her. I never got the chance to thank you.”

“Ah, well.” Morrigan shrugged, sipping her own wine. “There is no need to thank me. I had reasons of my own – as I’m sure she told you as well.”

“She did,” Leliana said, dipping her head. “I’ve kept an eye on your son, since he came here. He seems all right. A bit odd, perhaps, but no danger. And so polite! I don’t know where he learned it.”

“I had to prepare him for life in Orlais somehow,” Morrigan said, tilting her cup in acknowledgement of the point. “He is ordinary in many ways. I want him to have as much of an ordinary life as he may, as… extraordinary as he is. ‘Twas not something I ever had.”

“I suspected as much,” Leliana said. “But tell me, Morrigan – I heard what you said to her before we went to the Archdemon, you know. ‘Live gloriously,’” she quoted, echoing Morrigan’s cadences if not her Fereldan accent. She looked down at Morrigan, smiling. “Are you really going to tell me you didn’t do what you did at least in part to save her life?”

Morrigan shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose not. ‘Twas indeed a benefit to the offer. I would have mourned her, if she died. The world would be a lesser place without her.”

 “And my life much emptier,” Leliana said. “You saved my love, Morrigan – I know that. She never would have let Alistair die in her place. I won’t put that debt over the good of the Inquisition, but it is a debt. You have my gratitude.”

Ten years ago, Morrigan would have said _‘tis a useless thing to have._ Tonight, she sipped from her wine and said, “I will remember. And do you know where she has gone? I admit, I would have liked to see her again.”

“I can find her if I need,” Leliana said, shrugging one shoulder. “We have been apart too long, but we see each other when we can. She has her own work to be doing. I hate to be without her, but I’m not sorry she’s not here for all of this. She’s carried enough.”

“That she has,” Morrigan conceded. “Is it difficult, doing the work you do? I remember she was always urging you to be softer.”

Leliana jerked away; wine slopped onto the garden stones. “I see –” she said, and Morrigan sighed.

“’Twas only a question, Leliana. Though I realize why you might think otherwise. You have done greatly needed things, and great ones, in these past years. I always thought she was urging you to squander yourself.”

“She believed in a better world than you or I ever really lived in,” Leliana said, but she settled onto the bench-seat proper. “It was part of what I loved about her, but I… you’re right that I couldn’t stay the person she thought I could be. What I knew how to do was too useful. Too necessary. She hasn’t left me for it yet.”

“And she would be a fool to do so,” Morrigan said, reaching to pour herself more wine. She held the bottle out to Leliana, who took it rather than offering her cup. “The work you do moves the world that little bit closer to what she would like it to be, however ugly it is in the moment. ‘Tis a valuable thing. I am glad the Inquisitor prizes it so highly.”

“You’ve become quite the flatterer in Orlais,” Leliana laughed, but her eyes shone damply in the dark. “I never would have thought it.”

“I was scarcely twenty-one when last we knew each other,” Morrigan said. “It has been half my life again, spent in a very different place. With different company.”

“Really!” Leliana stared. “I always thought you were older than me. Not that you haven’t kept your youth extraordinarily well.”

“I _am_ a shapeshifter,” Morrigan said. “I suspect it helps. And I thought myself quite knowledgeable, back then. Since then, I have… surprised myself.”

“As have we all, I think,” Leliana said. “You know, I overheard Kieran singing, earlier. Does he do that often?”

“Some,” Morrigan said. “No more than any child, I imagine.”

“I thought I recognized the song,” Leliana said. “It was ‘In Uthenera,’ wasn’t it? I wondered if he knew it because of… what he is.”

With an effort of will first learned in Flemeth’s house and put to good use in the court of Orlais, Morrigan kept herself from hunching over. “No,” she said, a little shortly. “He has never slept easily – _that_ much is because of what he is. Singing used to soothe him. I am not the singer you used to be, but I see I managed to carry the tune well enough.”

“Again you flatter me, Morrigan,” Leliana said, smiling. “And I noticed you remembered my fashion advice, too. Be careful, or I’ll start to think you like me.”

No force of will could stop Morrigan from flushing; Leliana laughed. “I’m teasing you, Morrigan,” she said. “It’s a thing we do, with old friends. Or new ones. I would like us to be friends.”

“I do not intend to linger after this matter with Corypheus is done,” Morrigan said, staring down into the depths of her wine. “Kieran and I will take our leave.”

“I know you’re not the lingering kind,” Leliana said. “But I didn’t think I would ever see you again after Denerim, and here we are. We might as well be friends when we find each other. I would rather be your friend than your enemy, or even a stranger.”

“I have learned,” Morrigan conceded, “of the value of powerful friends. And… of friendships, in general.” She glanced up, smiling. “And you have brought me very good wine.”

Leliana laughed, low and bright. “To friendship, then,” she said, and toasted Morrigan in the fading light of the sun.


End file.
